Make Your Choice
by Nightshade552
Summary: After Erik drags Christine 'down once more' to the dungeons of his black dispair, she has a choice to make: Raoul, or Erik. And there are extreme consequences for both; who will she chose? R&R plz, comments welcome, Flamers will be Punjabed.
1. Christine's Choice

**Make Your Choice**

By: Nightshade

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom Of The Opera, or any of the characters. These belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. I wrote this only out of sheer pleasure and enjoyment purposes, no money is to be made off of this.

Authors note: This is based mostly on the Musical, Phantom of the Opera, though there are some parts based upon the original book by Gerard Leroux. This is a sort of an EC fic, though Christine ends up with Raoul at the end. I hope you enjoy!

"You try my patience. Make your choice!"

Erik's angry growl seemed to echo inside my mind a thousand times before I had enough nerve to actually look at him. His stance was positively frightening and I was surprised that I hadn't fainted yet; I tend to do that a lot. His piercing yellow gaze seemed to drain the fight and will out of me, leaving me weak and vulnerable, susceptible to the power of his angelic voice; they seemed to call to me and it took all my self-will not to walk forwards into his welcoming embrace of darkness. How to choose! Either I condemn myself to a life of fear and contempt with Erik, or a life of sadness and guilt without Raoul. I wish to have neither, but neither is not an option. And if I don't choose, he chooses death for us all!!

The agony of such a choice! What shall I do? Who am I to play God with the lives of others? Now starring openly at Erik, I notice the tension in his body; it's quite easy to see through his soaked white shirt and wet pants that cling to his chest and legs. Broad shoulders stiffened and squared, his muscles drawn taunt under his skin like a cat about to pounce upon it's prey, I faltered in my speech, not knowing what to say to him. Make my choice? What choice was there? To live without living, or die without truly dying, those were no choices at all!!

So instead of trying to say what I felt and meant, I sang. After all, one does not speak to the Opera Ghost, or Erik, as I know him better as. They sing for him, and so I did. Softly at first, and unsure of myself, my words were confused and I fumbled, off key and my voice grating from the emotion that constricted my throat. For a moment I saw the uncertainty flash in Erik's yellow eyes, his disappointment in me, in my singing. I knew I could do better, he knew I could do better, we all knew I could do better, but I had never been under this kind of pressure; there was none like it.

To sing before an audience of thousands that only wish to hear me fail or prevail is nothing. To sing knowing that my career is on the line, to know that I must get that high C right or else I will be cast out of the Opera, is nothing. To sing knowing that my childhood love sat in the audience waiting to hear my crystalline voice soar to the rafters, is nothing. But to sing for my Angel, to sing for Erik, is something. To know that he is out there, listening, no matter where I am, critiquing me at every noise I make is something. And now should have been no different, except that now I knew he was no Angel of heaven and light; he was an Angel of darkness and he was bent on getting what he wanted, no matter what the cost.

So I sang, one last time for my Angel. When I could still not find my voice, I saw a muscle in his neck begin to pulse wildly, his jaw set tightly, his shoulders tighten even more to the point of nearly snapping. Sorrow, horror, deceit, betrayal, grief, guilt, anger, hope; all these things flashed through his eyes as he starred at me, or rather, through me. He no longer saw me, the physical me- he was looking at the me inside, the Christine Daae that he knew he could never have. And somehow, seeing those things flash in his hard and haunting eyes, I found it.

Suddenly the walls around me began to shiver with the power in which I sang, and a warmth flooded my body at the feeling of accomplishment. I had done it by myself, reached my peak of singing without him. And he knew it too. I saw the pain lance through his eyes as he stood behind his thousands of candles that cast him into shadow, a place he had hid for so long he naught but it. Casting my gaze at Raoul, who stood purple faced, the Punjab lasso choking him firmly about the neck, I made my decision. Voice strong and proud, I sang to Erik, to the Angel of Music, I gave him what he wanted and took my first step towards him, boldly tilting my head to the side in a sort of defiance against him.

For so long he had forced me to succumb to his will, to his every command, to come when beckoned, to leave when dismissed.... But now he was beseeching me with his eyes to leave him in his misery and I did not listen. The dress he had made for me, for us on our wedding day was torn and soiled at the edges, catching dirt, grime and water in it's delicate embrace as I advanced towards Erik. The surprise and pleasure that lit his eyes made my steps falter, though I recovered quickly at his tantalizing grin that mocked me so. His voice caressed my mind gently, prodding me seductively with his witty and clever tongue.

_You cannot resist me, my Angel. You are not strong enough to defy Erik, and therefore you shall succumb to him once more and be his living bride. Cast off this cloak of freedom in which you wear so boldly about your delicate shoulders and slip into something more comfortable....._

So intoxicating was his voice in my mind that I soon fell silent and even sooner found that I stood before him, looking up into that smoldering gaze which was so familiar to me I did not think twice about it. He reached out a gloved hand towards my face and gently caressed it, the leather of it coarse against my porcelain-like face. But no matter what it was that he wore upon his hand, I leaned into the caress, eyes fluttering with a faint I could feel coming on to me. I felt like I was falling, into his trap once more, but this time, i knew, even if faintly, that I would not be coming back out. And still his voice echoed in my head as he drew me close to him.

_Perhaps something familiar as well as comfortable..... What do you think? Any ideas Christine? No? What a pity, I had hoped that you would indulge me further with your quaint pleasantries..._ his voice almost purred inside my head, making me think, not for the first time, of a cat stalking it's prey, trying to lure it into calmness._ Very well. I shall have to be the one to dress you. What do you say to wearing Deceit? Or is Treachery more to your liking? I myself see you as wearing Betrayal, or Denial, for they suit you so well!_

Suddenly the voice in my mind was accompanied by Erik's real voice, at once talking. This is what shook me from his trance over me, and when the fogs and mists began to clear, I barely stifled a scream of horror and terror at the face that I beheld before me. By no means did his deformity frighten me any longer; too many times I had snatched his mask curiously from his face; but it was the first time I had truly seen him show emotion. It was not like when he had cried at my feet, begging me to stay with him forever, his soft voice racked with sobs and tears so that my heart felt like it was being torn from my chest. The tears nearly burning as they fell upon my shaking hands, his skin seeming to melt upon his face- Oh what horror it was to behold and witness. But now I would have rather wished he were crying, for that was something I could handle; or rather, _knew_ how to handle.

His face was contorted, pain and rage most apparent upon it's deformed features. His eyes were a burning mixture of yellow and red as if he bled from them, his mouth twisted nastily in a grin of lunacy. The hollows of his cheeks were ever more prominent as he threw back his head and began to chuckle insanely, the laughter growing in volume until it rang throughout his lair, filling every little crevice of stone and structure, the sound sending shivers down anyone's body who heard it. But to me, this was an outcry for help. My heart wept for him, as did my eyes, and impulsively I reached out to silence him, one hand resting upon his wet chest, the other groping for his hand that he had flung out to his side in a show of defeat.

Almost instantly the only sound heard was the echo of his great laughter ringing throughout his vast empire. Underneath my palm I felt his pulse quicken at my soft touch, his breath rise until he was almost gasping. I stood still, fearing that if I moved I might break the silence and therefore break my nerve. With my own heart pounding I looked up into his face, which was still thrown back, though he was slowly bringing it upright to look at me. I didn't know what to expect there, rage and surprise that was sure, but what else? Would I find that maniacal sparkle in his eyes? Soon enough his hand sought out mine and he grasped it firmly, as if not believing it was real, though not chancing to let it go lest it was.

My heart wrenched at the feel of his gloved hand running over mine a thousand times, as if trying to remember it, his touch delicate and soft, a butterflies touch. In that simple gesture I heard him cry out for acceptance, for love and peace, things which he had longed for, for so long in his life, but was never granted. The tears came to my eyes once again and I looked away from Erik in all his needs of pity, too emotionally drained to go through another episode again, for I feared that if I dropped my resolve I would not be given the choice to be free again. Gasping as if I had been stung, I looked sharply at Erik, who had reached out to touch my face gently, with all the compassion in the world shining in his captivating eyes. For the red had gone from them and in its place was a greenish blue color and I could almost think of him as normal.

_Make- your- choice-_

His voice was harsh in my mind, though his face was as pleading for love and affection as a newborn babes'.

"Erik...."

The compassion of which I had felt over the months of my affair with the Angel of Music was put into that one single word. Raoul, having been forgotten in our turmoil, had slumped to the floor, face turning nearly purple as Erik's magic kept the Punjab lasso taunt around his throat, ensuring a slow and painful death. I did notice that my love had fallen to the floor, or that he was whispering my name, telling me to leave him and to go away at once, to free myself from the monsters hold at last. But had I even heard, I would not have listened. With new resolve, I stepped as close to Erik as I physically could, my body pressed against his wet and starved one.

I saw the fire of anger, deceit, treachery, betrayal- all the things he had named me by, flash in his eyes. I saw the anger rise in those eyes that were no more human than a dogs and I sought to extinguish it. I would show him that I cared, that I wished I could help him; I would make him know that I had loved him, but that he had pushed me away. Sliding an arm around his waist, I drew his tensed body closer to me, so he could not draw back, that he was forced to stand against me- Had I my natural wits about me, I would have known that I couldn't have possibly made him stay against his will by my side, for his might surpassed mine greatly, as he had shown me once before, but in my need to show him everything, it didn't matter.

I heard him growl angrily, not liking surprises and being cornered into something he had no control over. He had no idea what I had in store for him and no amount of his magic and trickery could help him figure it out. He had once said he had never known a women, and so I knew that he was uneducated in what I was doing. Before he had time to draw away, I lifted my hand to his face, caressing the wounds and disfigurements that he had been born with, and for which society had cast him away. I heard him whimper and flinch away, and I nearly cried out to him, the pain was so deep within my heart for him.

I could feel Erik gasping for breath, each inhale laboured and wheezy. I felt the tears that were falling from his soulful eyes splash upon my head, my lips, my cheeks and soon I felt my own fall. What a scene we must have made, two people crying out of pain and loss and joy, clasping one another as if nothing else mattered. Indeed, Erik had reached out to me, clutching to my torn and sullied dress as if it was his last lifeline. I was reminded greatly of a child who does not want to leave his mothers' side and so he clings to her dress, crying and begging her not leave him.

I felt Erik's soul call out to me, begging me to stay, to be with him forever. Promising me everything I could possibly want so long as I never left him. And I cried for him. I cried for what he could not have, what I could not give him. I could not be a wife and a mother to him, and belatedly I realized that he could not be a father to me. All this time, that was one thing that drew me to him. His passion about music, his knowledge of my own father, I felt as though he might perhaps fill that hole with which my fathers' death had created in my heart. When I was with Erik, I could let my soul wander as I had done so often as a child with my papa.

Not able to bear another moment of his sobbing, I clasped my free hand behind his neck and drew myself up to my tiptoes, forcing his head to come down and meet my lips half way. First, I kissed him upon the forehead, my soft lips caressing his face like silk. I heard him gasp, felt his grip tighten and strain against me as he tried to withdraw, not knowing how long he could withstand. But I called out to him, clutched him to me as if _he_ were my last lifeline.

"Erik, don't do this!! Erik please!"

I don't know if I uttered anything more, or less, but I know my voice cracked and I began to place my lips about his face in wonder and abandonment, so quickly as if I knew I would never get another chance. And Erik began to give in. He stopped trying to move away, he stopped sobbing like a child and he grew less taunt and rigid. He closed his eyes and I kissed them too, my lips reaching nearly ever contour of his marvelous face. Without his mask there to protect them, I encountered his lips and soon again his guard was up. Ready to push himself away, he gathered and bunched his muscles, placing his hands tightly upon my hips to shove me away from him in pain and grief. But I was intrigued. His lips, unlike every other part of his face, which were rough and calloused from deformity, were instead soft as silk and supple as baby's skin.

Curious, I kissed them again, lingering this time over them, my own caressing his in soft, long movements. It was like a game almost, to see how long he could last without showing any signs of emotion. He didn't last long, for he had never been touched so, by anyone, and now he was being touched by the one person whom he had longed would. I heard and felt him swallow hard, felt his face contort and wrinkle in a frown as I continued to explore the marvel of his lips. He slowly began to respond, gently running his own lips across mine and the sensation was amazing. Never before had I kissed another so, or been kissed for that matter, my only suitor having been Raoul, and he was too gentlemanly to have kissed me thus and I too ladylike.

But with Erik, it was different. I was inviting him to do so, and he responded with such knowledge and ardor that I began to wonder if he had lied to me. But by the way he touched me- fleetingly, only for a second, then came back to stay longer only to fly away again- I knew he had not lied. He was so innocent and gentle that I wondered if this was the same man as only a few moments before. I was held captivated and mesmerized, not by his voice, but by his lips, and he had to hold me tight, else I might have swooned.

I know not whether it was he, or I who began it, but soon the kisses turned into something more than chaste pecks upon the lips. We both grew tense, and i felt a need inside of me to be closer to him, for this was my one and only chance to show him love, to give him what he had begged and pleaded for, for years; and not only was it my only chance, it was his as well.

Sparks flew and we clung to one another for what seemed like an eternity, and when it was through, we both stood shaking in each others' embrace, his breathing reduced once more to wheezing and I to gasping. His gloved hands were toying with the ends of my hair that fell to my waist, and I stood, just clasping myself to him for support. Resting our cheeks against one another, we paused from everything and we thought of nothing.

_Christine.... I-.... I love you._

And my heart trembled. The spell was broken by his words and I suddenly remembered Raoul, who was nearly, strangulated past repair, slumped upon the floor, one of the candelabra's propping him half up in support. He was starring at me in what seemed to be horror, mingled with relief, and I smiled fleetingly at him. Erik must have known that I was lost, for he had dropped to his knees and had his cheek pressed against my stomach, arms encircled about my legs and derrière like a grief stricken child. I held him to me, as a mother would, stroking his hair until he grew still and silent. Sounds began to echo throughout the cellars of the Opera, a chanting of many people and they were growing nearer. In my distraction, Erik had disappeared from beside me and was now standing beside his Organ. He pointed to Raoul, who was sputtering upon the floor, gasping for breath. The candelabra in which he had been resting had lit the rope on fire and broken the magical spell that had it imprisoning the Vicomte.

I ran to his side, worry causing my hands to be harsh as they pulled away the noose around his neck and grabbed his shirt, pulling him towards me. We embraced roughly and awkwardly, for we were reduced to giddy children once again in each other's presence. We stared at each other for long moments, while the sounds of the mob grew louder in the cellar, and at the last moment I knew he forgave me. Helping him to stand, we both looked to Erik, who sat with his back to us, sitting upon his stool at his Organ. He spoke softly, though we could hear him clearly, his voice detached and lifeless.

"Go now, don't wait. Don't let them find you. Forget all of you've seen; forget all you've heard. Go now, before it's too late."

I could tell that he was in turmoil; his shoulders were hunched, his voice was hoarse with unshed tears and pain and he wouldn't looks at us. Raoul must have felt my resolve slipping, for he grasped me firmly, yet gently by the arm and steered me towards the gondolas in which I had first arrived to Erik's magical kingdom.

"Christine.... lets hurry. Do as he wishes, don't make him angry!"

And with that Raoul turned and hopped into the boat, reaching out a hand towards me to follow. But I starred at Erik, heart convulsing with each moment he stayed turned from me. It hurt, to see him seemingly care so little and the only reason I think I came to be in that boat was that he yelled at me to get inside it. He used the powers of his magnificent voice to compel me to his final wish.

"Go now!!!! Go now and leave me!!!!!!!!!"

Jumping, I ran to the boat and into Raoul's arms that embraced me comfortingly warm and gentle, promising. He pushed off into the lake and began to bear us down, out of Erik's domain. I continued to stare off at Erik, until he was a mere shadow amongst a multitude of light, and I turned from him, one last time, never to hear the glory of his voice again.


	2. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

He felt her slipping away from him, felt the agony as she drifted farther and farther away from his presence, his heart thumping painfully slow in his constricted chest. What was more, she hadn't said goodbye. Indeed, that kiss was her initial goodbye, but she hadn't sung one last time for him, as he had bid her.

_Sing for me......._

Her voice was nowhere to be found within his walls, walls that no longer meant anything to him. Once the boat turned the corner and he felt her gaze drift from him, he did turn. He watched her sail away to her new life, and thought he had done the right thing. He would never have been able to give her the normal life she would have craved for, or the love in which she deserved. It was right of him to send her away .... The Vicomte De Chagney could and would supply her with everything she desired, she would be happy.... forever.

Opening the pages to his Opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_, Erik flipped to the last page, where it seemed as though the music was finished. There was one note left to write, one note he had left off to writing, for he had thought he could live with Christine forever if he didn't write that one note. He looked at the last seven notes on the paper and finally jotted down the last one upon the chart and hummed it to himself, his voice echoing throughout the cellars, as soft and unobtrusive as candlelight.

Standing up, he moved to his throne and sat upon it, waiting for the mob to descend unto his lair. When the first footsteps fell upon the stone of his floor, Erik sighed dismally, drawing his cloak over his body, yellow eyes staring out from the shadows, until they too disappeared, the only noise being his voice, the last notes of his Opera still ringing throughout the Opera Popular.

_Christine, I love you......._

The End


End file.
